O'Rooney stood with rifle grasped, while young Munson ran toward him from the centre of the cave, exclaiming in his excited tones:
“There's another man back yonder! I saw him and spoke to him!”
“Did ye ax him anything, and did he make a sensible reply?” demanded the Irishman, whose concern was by no means equal to that of the lad.
“He made no answer at all, nor did he seem to take any notice of me.”
“Maybe it's a ghost walking round the cave, on the same errand as meself. But whist now; where is he, that I may go and ax him the state of his health?”
The lad turned to lead the way, while Mickey followed close at his heels, his gun ready to be used at an instant's warning, while Fred kept glancing over his shoulder, to make sure that his friend was not falling too far in the rear.
It seemed that, while the man was engaged in his exploration, the lad had ventured upon a little prowling expedition of his own. During this he made the startling discovery that some one else was in the cave, and he dashed off at once: to notify his friend and guide.
Fred walked some distance further, still holding the torch above his head and peering into the gloom ahead and on either hand, as though in doubt as to whether he was on the right track or not. All at once he stopped with a start of surprise, and, pointing some distance ahead and upon the ground, said:
“There he is!”
Following the direction indicated, Mickey saw the figure of a man stretched out upon the ground, face downward, as though asleep.
“You ain't afeard of a dead spalpeen?” demanded Mickey, with a laugh. “You might have knowed from his shtyle that he's as dead as poor Thompson was when Lone Wolf made a call on him.”
“How do you know he's dead?” asked Fred, whose terror was not lessened by the word of his friend.
“'Cause he couldn't have stretched out that way, and kept it up all the time we've been fooling round here. If ye entertain any doubt, I'll prove it. Let me have your torch.”
Taking it from the lad's trembling hand, he walked to the figure, stooped down, and, taking it by the shoulder, turned it over upon its back. The result was rather startling even to such a brave man as Mickey. It was not a dead man which the two looked down upon, but practically a skeleton—the remains of an individual, who, perhaps, had been dead for years. Some strange property of the air had dessicated the flesh, leaving the face bare and staring, while the garments seemed scarcely the worse for their long exposure.
Another noticeable feature was the fact that the clothing of the remains showed that not only was he a white man, but also that he was not a hunter or frontier character, such as were about the only ones found in that section of the country. The coat, vest, and trousers were of fine dark cloth, and the boots were of thin, superior leather. The cap was gone. It was just such a dress as is encountered every day in our public streets.
Mickey O'Rooney contemplated the figure for a time in silence. He was surprised and puzzled. Where could this person have come from? There was nothing about his dress to show that he belonged to the military service, else it might have been supposed that he was some officer who had wandered away from his post, and had been caught in the same fashion as had the man and boy.
“Are there any more around here?” asked Mickey, in a subdued tone, peering off into the gloom.
Fred passed slowly round in a circle, gradually widening out, until he had passed over quite an area, but without discovering anything further.
“There isn't any one else near us. If there is, he is in some other part of the cave.”
“How came ye to find this fellow?”
“I was walking along, never thinking of anything of the kind, when I came near stepping upon the body. I was never more scared in my life.”
“That's the way wid some of yees—ye're more affrighted at a dead man than a live one. Let's see whether he has left anything that ye can identify him by.”
Upon examining further, a silver-mounted revolver was found beneath the body. It was untarnished, and seemingly as good as the day it was completed. When Mickey came to look at it more closely, he found that only one barrel had been discharged, all the others being loaded.
This fact aroused a suspicion, and, looking again at the head, a round hole, such as would have been made only by a bullet, was found in the very centre of the forehead. There could be but little doubt, then, that this man, whoever he was, had wandered about the cavern until famished, and, despairing of any escape, had deliberately sent himself out of the world by means of the weapon at his command. But who was he?
Laying the handsome pistol aside, Mickey continued the search, anxious to find something that would throw light upon the history of the man. It was probable that he had a rifle—but it was not to be found, and, perhaps, had vanished, as had that of Fred Munson. It was more likely that something would be found in his pockets that would throw some light upon the question; and the Irishman, having undertaken the job, went through it to the end.
It was not the pleasantest occupation in the world to ransack the clothing of a skeleton, and he who was doing it could not help reflecting as he did so that it looked very much like a desecration and a robbing of the dead. To his great disappointment, however, he failed to discover anything which would give the slightest clue. It looked as if the man had purposely destroyed all such articles before destroying himself, and, after a thorough search, Mickey was compelled to give up the hunt.
Five chambers of the revolver, as has been said, were still loaded, and, after replacing the caps, the new owner was confident they were good for that number of shots.
“Here,” said he, handing the weapon to the boy; “your rifle is gone, and you may as well take charge of this. It may come as handy as a shillelah in a scrimmage, so ye does hold on to the same.”
Fred took it rather gingerly, for he did not fancy the idea of going off with property taken from a dead man, but he suffered his friend to pursuade him, and the arrangement was made.
In the belief that there might be others somewhere around, Mickey spent an hour or two longer in an exploration of the cave, with the single purpose of looking for bodies. They approached the ravine in which Fred had dropped his gun. The Irishman leaped across, torch in hand, and prosecuted his search along that side; but they were compelled to give over after a time and conclude that only a single individual had preceded them in the cave.
“Where he came from must iver remain a mystery,” said Mickey. “He hasn't been the kind of chaps you find in this part of the world; but whoever he was, it must have been his luck to drop through the skylight, just as we did. He must have found the wood here and kindled a fire. Then he wint tramping round, looking for some place to find his way out, and kept it up till he made up his mind it was no use Then he acted like a gintleman who prefarred to be shot to starving, and, finding nobody around to 'tend to the business, done it himself.”
“Can't we bury him, Mickey?”
“He's buried already.”
The Irishman meant nothing especial in his reply, but there was a deep significance about it which sent a shudder through his hearer from head to foot. Yes, the stranger was buried, and in the same grave with him were Mickey O'Rooney and Fred Munson.
The speaker saw the effect his words had produced, and attempted to remove their sting.
“It looks very much to me as if the man had n't done anything but thramp, thramp, without thrying any way of getting out, and then had keeled over and give up.”
“What could he do, Mickey?”
“Could n't he have jumped into the stream, and made a dive? He stood a chance of coming up outside, and if he had n't, he would have been as well off as he is now.”
“Is that what you mean to do?”
“I will, before I'd give up as he did; but it's meself that thinks there's some other way of finding our way. Bring me gun along, and come with me!”
Mickey carried the torch, because he wished to use it himself. He led the way back to where the stream disappeared from view, and there he made another careful examination, his purpose being different from what it had been in the first place. He stooped over and peered at the dark walls, noting the width of the stream and the contour of the bank, as well as the level of the land on the right. Evidently he had some scheme which he was considering.
He said nothing, but spent fully a half hour in his self-imposed task, during which Fred stood in the background, trying to make out what he was driving at. He saw that Mickey was so intently occupied that he was scarcely conscious of the presence of any one else, and he did not attempt to disturb him. Suddenly the Celt roused himself from his abstraction, and, turning to the expectant lad, abruptly asked:
“Do you know, me laddy, that it is dinner-time?”
“I feel as though it was, but we have no means of judging the time, being as neither of us carries a watch.”
“Come on,” added the Irishman, leading in the direction of the camp-fire. “I'm sorry I didn't bring my watch wid me, but the trouble was, I was afeard that it might tire out my horse, for it was of goodly size. The last time it got out of order, it took a blacksmith in the owld country nearly a week to mend it. It was rather large, but it would have been handy. Whenever we wanted to cook anything, we could have used the case for a stew-pan, or we could have b'iled eggs in the same, and when we started our hotel at New Boston, it would have done for a gong. It was rather tiresome to wind up nights, as the key didn't give you much leverage, and if your hold happened to slip, you was likely to fall down and hurt yersilf. But here we are, as Jimmy O'Donovan said when he j'ined his father and mother in jail.”
When they reached the camp-fire, it had burned so low that they threw on considerable more wood before sitting down to their lunch. As it flamed up and the cheerful light forced the oppressive gloom back from around them, both felt a corresponding rise in spirits.
“It was lucky that I brought along that maat,” remarked Mickey, as he produced the venison, already cooked and prepared for the palate. “It's a custom that Mr. Soot Simpson showed me, and I like it very much. You note that the maat would be a great deal better if we had some salt and pepper, or if we could keep it a few days till it got tender; but, as it is, I think we'll worry it down.”
“It seems to me that I never tasted anything better,” responded Fred, “but that, I suppose, is because I become so hungry before tasting it.”
“Yees are right. If ye want to know how good a cup of water can taste, go two days without drinking; or if ye want to enjoy a good night's rest, sit up for two nights, and so, if ye want to enjoy a nice maal of victuals, ye must fast for a day or two. Now, I don't naad any fasting, for I always enjoyed ating from the first pratie they giv me to suck when I was a few waaks old.”
“Well, Mickey, you've been pretty well around the cave, and I want to know what you think of our chance of getting out?”
The face of the Irishman became serious, and he looked thoughtfully into the fire a moment before answering. Disposed as he was to view everything from the sunshiny side, Mickey was not such a simpleton as to consider their incarceration in the cave a matter that could be passed off with a quirp and jest. He had explored the interior pretty thoroughly, and gained a correct idea of their situation, but as yet he saw no practical way of getting out. The plan of diving down the stream, and trusting to Providence to come up on the outside was to be the last resort.
Mickey did not propose to undertake it until convinced that no other scheme was open to him. In going about the cave, he struck the walls in the hope of finding some weak place, but they all gave forth that dead sound which would have been heard had they been backed up by fifty feet of solid granite. Among the many schemes that he had turned over in his mind, none gave as little promise as this, and he dismissed it as utterly impracticable.
He could conjure no way of reaching that opening above their heads. He could not look up at that irregular, jagged opening without thinking how easy it would be to rescue them, if they could make their presence known to some one outside. There was Sut Simpson, who must have learned that he had gone upon the wrong trail, and who had, therefore, turned back to the assistance of his former comrade.
The latter knew him to be a veteran of the prairie, one who could read signs that to others were like a sealed book, and whose long years of adventure with the tribes of the Southwest had taught him all their tricks; but whether he would be likely to follow the two, and to understand their predicament, was a question which Mickey could not answer with much encouragement to himself. Still there was a possibility of its being done, and now and then the Irishman caught himself looking up at the “skylight,” with a longing, half-expectant gaze.
There were several other schemes which he was turning over in his mind, none of which, however, had taken definite shape, and, not wishing to discourage his young friend, he answered his question as best he could.
“Well, my laddy, we're going to have a hard time to get out, but I think we'll do it.”
“But can you tell me how?”
Mickey scratched his head in his perplexed way, hardly feeling competent to come down to particulars.
“I can't, exactly; I've a good many plans I'm turning over in my head, and some of them are very fine and grand, and its hard to pick out the right one.”
Fred felt that he would like to hear what some of them were, but he did not urge his friend, for he suspected that the fellow was trying to keep their courage up.
They had finished their meal, and were sitting upon the sandy soil, discussing the situation and throwing an occasional longing look at the opening above. They had taken care to avoid getting directly beneath it; for they had no wish to have man or animal tumble down upon their heads. Now and then some of the gravel loosened and rattled down, and the clear light that made its way through the overhanging bushes showed that the sun was still shining, and, no doubt, several hours still remained to them in which to do any work that might present itself. But, unfortunately, nothing remained to do.
Whatever were the different schemes which Mickey was turning over in his mind, none of them was ripe enough to experiment with. As the Irishman thought of this and that, he decided to make no special effort until the morrow. He and Fred could remain where they were without inconvenience for a day or two longer, but it was necessary, too, that they should have their full strength of body and mind when the time should come to work.
“Sometimes when I git into a sore puzzle,” said Mickey, “and so many beautiful and irritating plans come up before me that I cannot find it in my heart which way to decide, I goes to slape and drames me way through it, right straight into the right way.”
“Did you ever find your path out of trouble?” inquired Fred.
“Very frequently—that is, not to say so frequently—but on one or two important occasions. I mind the time when I was coorting Bridget O'Flaherty and Mollie McFizzle, in the ould counthry. Both of 'em was fine gals, and the trouble was for me to decide which was the best as a helpmate to meself.
“Bridget had red hair and beautiful freckles and a turn-up nose, and she was so fond of going round without shoes that her feet spread out like boards; Molly was just as handsome, but her beauty was of another style. She had very little hair upon her pad, and a little love-pat she had wid an old beau of hers caused a broken nose, which made her countenance quite picturesque. She was also cross-eyed, and when she cocked one eye down at me, while she kept a watch on the door wid the other, there was a loveliness about her which is not often saan in the famale form.”
“And you could n't decide which of these would make you the best wife?”
“Nary a once. The attraction of both was nearly equal.”
“But how about their housekeeping? I've often heard father tell what a splendid housekeeper mother was, and how he would rather have his wife a good housekeeper than beautiful.”
“But the trouble was, I had both. I've described you the charms and grace of each, and when I add that both were elegant housekeepers, ye'll admit that my dilemma was greater than ever. They both handled the broom to perfection; they could knock a chap clane across the cabin and out of the window before ye could know what was coming. Me mither used to say it was the housekeeping qualities that should decide, and she told me to call upon 'em sometime when they was n't expecting me, and obsarve the manner in which they handled things. Wal, Bridget was the first one that I sneaked in upon. I heard a thumping noise as I drew near, as though something was tumbling about the floor, and when I peeped through the door, I saw that Bridget and her mother was having a delightful love-pat. They was banging and whaling each other round the room, and, as the old lady had her muscle well up, it was hard to tell which was coming out ahead. Of course, my sympathies were with the lovely Bridget, and I was desirous that she should win—but I didn't consider it my duty to interfere. I supposed the old lady had been trying to impose too much work on Bridget, and, therefore, she had rebelled, and was lambasting her for the same. My interest in the little affair was so great, that I pushed the door ajar, and stood with me mouth and eyes wide open. It wasn't long before I began to get worried, for, from the way things looked, the owld lady was getting the upper hand. I was thinking I would have to sail in and lend a helping hand, when Bridget fotched the old lady a whack that made her throw up the sponge. Wid that I felt so proud that I sung out a word of encouragement, and rushed forward to embrace my angel, but, before I could do so, she give me a swipe that sent me backward through the door, busting it off, and I was out of the ring.
“The interview was very satisfactory,” continued Mickey, “and I wint over to take a sly paap at Molly. As I drawed near the little hut on the edge of the wood, I did n't hear any such noise as I noticed over at Bridget's house. All was as still as it is here this minute. Me first thought was that they all had gone away, but when I got nearer, I noted my mistake. Molly's mother was busy sewing, and sitting near her was her charming daughter Molly, leaning back in her chair, with her head thrown still further back, her mouth wide open, and she a-snoring. I've no doubt that she had become exhausted from overwork, and was taking a little nap. The mother looked up as I stepped softly in, and I axed her, in an undertone, how long her pet child had been asleep. She said between two or three hours, and that she would wake her up, if Molly hadn't told her before closing her eyes that if she dared to disturb her before her nap was finished, she'd break the old lady's head. Knowing the delicate relations that existed betwaan us, she suggested that I should arouse her, she being afraid that she would sleep so long that she would starve to death before she awoke. I wanted to come at the matter gintly, so I took a straw and tickled Molly's nose. She snorted a little, and rubbed it with her fist, but didn't open her eyes. I'd undertook the job, however, and I was bound to do it, or die. So I wiggled at her nostrils, and she made a yell and a jump, and was wide awake. I don't mind me all that took place just then. Things was kind of confused, and, when Molly lit on me, I thought the cabin had tumbled in. My senses came back arter a while, and when I got my head bandaged up, I wint home to dream over it.”
“And what was your dream?” asked Fred.
“In my slumbers, I saw both my loves going for each other like a couple of Kilkenny cats, until there was nothing of aither lift. I took that as a sign that naither of 'em was interested for me, and so I give them up, sneaking off and sailing for Ameriky before they learned my intintions.”
Mickey proposed to act upon his own suggestion, which was to go to sleep as soon as the day ended and discuss the many different plans during his slumbers. He had a strong hope that the right one could be hit upon by this method. Somehow or other, his thoughts were fixed upon the stream, where it disappeared under the rocks, and, leaving Fred by the camp-fire, he relit his torch and went off to make another survey.
The lad watched the star-like point of light flickering in the gloom as his friend moved along, holding the torch over his head. It seemed to the watcher that when it paused they were separated by nearly a half mile. The light had an odd way of vanishing and remaining invisible for several minutes that made him think that some accident had befallen the bearer, or that the light had gone out altogether; but after a time it would reappear, dancing about in a way to show that the bearer was not idle in his researches.
Mickey O'Rooney was indeed active. After making his way to the point he was seeking, he shied off to the right, and approached the chasm, down which Fred had lost his rifle. As he stood on the edge of the rent in the fathomless darkness, he loosened a boulder with his foot, and as it toppled over, listened for the result. The way was so narrow that it bounded like a ball from side to side, and the Irishman heard it as it went lower and lower, until at last the strained ear could detect nothing more. There was no sound that came to him to show that it had reached the bottom.
“I s'pose it's going yet,” reflected Mickey, after listening several minutes, “and no doubt it will kaap on till it comes out somewhere in Chiny, which I've been told is on t'other side of the world. Now, why could n't we do the same?” he asked himself, with a sharp turn of the voice. “If that stone is on its way to Chiny, why can't we folly on after it? If we can't reach the crust of the world at this point, what's to hinder our going round by Chiny?—that's what I'd like to know. I wonder how long it would take us? I s'pose we'd get up pretty good steam, and go faster and faster, so that we wouldn't be many days on the road.
“But there's one great objection,” he added, scratching his head and knitting his brow with thought. “There's nothing to stop us from bouncing from side to side like that stone. If the way is rough, we'd be pretty sartin to get our breeches pretty well ripped off us, and by the time we raiched Chiny, we wouldn't be in a condition to be presented in coort; and then, too, I haven't enough money about me to pay my way home again.”
The visionary scheme was one of those which grew less in favor the more he reflected upon it, and, after turning it over for some minutes longer, he was naturally compelled to abandon the idea.
“I must try the stream agin,” he said, as he rose to his feet and groped his way back. “That seems to be the best door, after all, though it ain't the kind I hanker after.”
He thrust one end of the torch in the ground some distance away, and walked to the bank close to the great rock beneath which the stream dove and disappeared. Stooping down, he observed the same dull, white appearance that had caught his eye in the first place. Beyond question this was caused by the sunlight striking the water from the outside.
“I could almost swear that a feller wouldn't have to go more than twenty feet before he'd strike daylight,” mused Mickey, as he folded his arms and looked thoughtfully at the misty relief of the surrounding darkness; “and it would n't take much more to persuade me to make the dive and try it.”
As Mickey stood there, contemplating as best he could the darkly flowing stream, and debating the matter with himself, he was on the very eve of making the attempt fully half a dozen times. It seemed to him that he could not fail, and yet there was something in the project which held him back.
The stream at that point flowed quite rapidly, and the strongest swimmer, after venturing a few feet under water, would be utterly unable to return. Once started, there would be no turning back, so he concluded not to make the decisive trial just yet.
“The day is pretty nearly ended, and I will drame over it. I told me laddy that that was my favorite way of getting out of such a scrape, and I'll thry it. If there's no plan that presints itself by to-morrow, then I'll thry it then or the day after.”
Going to where his torch was still burning in the sand, he drew it out and moved back toward his old camp-fire.
“Well, me laddy, how have you made out during me absince? Have you—-”
He paused and looked about him.
“Begorrah, but no laddy is here. Can it be that he has strayed off, and started to Chiny so as to head me off? I say! Fred, me laddy, have ye—-”
“Sh! sh!”
And as the hurried aspirate was uttered, the boy came running silently out of the darkness, with his hand raised in a warning way.
“What is it?” asked Mickey, in amazement; “have ye found another dead man?”
“No; he's a live one!”
“What do yez mane? Explain yerself.”
The lad pointed to the opening over their heads, and motioned to his friend not to draw too near the camp-fire. There was danger in doing so.
“There's somebody up there,” he added, “and they're looking for us.”
“Are ye sure of that?” asked the Irishman, not a little excited at the news. “It may be that Soot Simpson has found us. Begorrah, if there is n't any mistake about it, as me uncle remarked, when he heard that the ship with his wife on was lost at saa, then I'll execute the Donnybrook jig in the highest style of the art. What was it that aroused your suspicion that some jintleman was onmannerly enough to be paaping down on us?”
“I was sitting here watching you, or rather your torch, and all the time the gravel kept rattling down faster and faster, till I knowed there was something more than usual going on up there, and I sneaked away from the fire, where I could get a better look. I went right under the place, and was about to see something worth seeing, when some dirt dropped plump into my eye, and I couldn't see anything for a while. After I had rubbed the grit out I took another look, and I know I saw something moving up there.”
“What did it look like?” asked Mickey, who was moving cautiously around, with his gaze fixed upon the same opening.
“I couldn't tell, though I tried hard to get a glimpse. It seemed to me that some one had a stick in his hand, and was beating around the edges of the opening, as though he wanted to knock the loose dirt off. I could see the stick flirted about, and fancied I could see the hand that was holding it, though I could n't be certain of that.”
“No; that's a leetle too much, as me mither obsarved, when me brother Tim said that he and meself had got along a whole half day without fighting, and then she whaled us both for lying. Ye couldn't tell a man's hand at that distance, but I see nothing of him, and I should like ye to tell me where he's gone.”
“That is what puzzles me. Maybe he is afraid that we will see him.”
Mickey was hardly disposed to accept such an explanation. It seemed to him more likely that it was some wild animal mousing around the orifice, and displacing the dirt with his paws, although he couldn't understand why an animal should be attracted by such a spot.
“It may be one of the spalpeens that got us into all this trouble,” he added, still circling slowly about, with his eyes fixed upon the opening. “Those Apaches are sharp-eyed, and perhaps one of their warriors has struck our trail, and tracked us to that spot. If it's the same, then I does n't see what he is to gain by fooling round up there. If he'd be kind 'nough to let a lasso down that we could climb up by, there'd be some sinse in the same, but—-”
To the horror of both, at that instant there was a flash at the opening over their heads, a dull report, and the bullet buried itself in the very centre of the camp-fire.
“Begorrah, but that's what I call cheek, as Ned McGowan used to say when the folks axed him to pay his debts. While we are looking about, and axing ourselves whether there's anybody else at all around us, one of the spalpeens sinds his bullet down here, coming closer to us than is plaisant. Did ye obsarve him?”
“I saw nothing but the flash. Do you think they could see us?”
“Not where we are now. We're too far away from the light. They've seen the fire, and by that token they've concluded that we must be somewhere near it.”
“But there was but one shot. Why not more?”
“We'll get the rest of thern arter awhile. That's a sort of faaler, thrown out to see how we take it, as Larry O'Looligan used to say when he knocked a man down. Now, do ye stand aside, and I'll answer 'em.”
“You'd better not,” protested Fred. “They can tell where we are by the flash of our guns.”
“Whisht, now, can't we move? Kape back in the dark like.”
The lad moved away several steps, and Mickey, who made sure that his form was not revealed by the light of his own camp-fire, circled around to the other side of the opening, which he was watching with the keenest interest. His purpose was to catch a glimpse of the wretch who had fired the shot. But that seemed about impossible. He could detect something moving now and then, and once or twice there was a twinkle of something red, like the eagle feather in the hair of the warrior, but he could make out nothing definitely.
“He's there; and all I want to do is to be certain of hitting him,” he muttered, as he held the cocked rifle to his shoulder. “I'm afeard that if I miss he'll take such good care of himself that I won't get another chance—-”
“There, Mickey, there's something,” broke in Fred, who was scrutinizing the opening as closely as he could. “Fire, quick! or you won't get the chance!”
The words were scarcely uttered, when the Irishman, who had already taken aim, pulled the trigger, instantly lowering his piece to watch the result.
Both he and Fred fancied they heard an exclamation, but they could not be certain. There was no perceptible commotion about the skylight, but the flickering, erratic movement which had puzzled them ceased on the instant. Whether the shot had accomplished anything or not could only be conjectured, but Mickey was of the opinion that the exchange was equally without result in both cases.
The direct result of this exchange of shots was to make the two parties more cautious. Mickey and Fred kept further away from the camp-fire, which they suffered to die out gradually. There was really no need fot it, and, since its presence meant danger, it was only prudent to dispense with it altogether.
For fully a half hour not the slightest movement or disturbance at the opening betrayed the presence of any one there, although there could be no doubt that their enemies were within call.
“I can't see what they can gain by loafing around them parts, as the lassies used to obsarve in the ould country when any of the laddies tried to cut me out wid 'em. They need n't watch for us to come out that way, for there ain't much danger of our trying to steal out of that hole—-”
“Holloa! Look there!” exclaimed Fred, in considerable excitement; “some of them are coming down to catch us.”
Mickey had already noticed that something unusual was up, and, just as the lad spoke, the figure of what seemed to be a man blocked up the opening, and then began slowly descending, as if supported by a rope, with which his friends were lowering him into the lower room. His form was swathed with a blanket, and there was a certain majesty in the slowly sinking figure, which would have been very impressive but for the fact that it was hardly started when the thin cord by which it was suspended began to twist and untwist, causing the form to revolve forward and backward in a way that was fatal to dignity.
On the impulse of the moment, the Irishman had raised his gun to fire the moment his eyes rested upon the figure. But he restrained himself, not a little puzzled to guess the meaning of such a proceeding. The man, as they believed him to be, was slowly lowered, until something like a dozen feet below the opening, where those who had him in charge seemed to think was the proper place to hold him on exhibition for a time.
“Are you going to shoot?” asked the boy, who did not understand the delay.
“What's the use?” he asked, with an expression of disgust.
“Why, it will stop the man coming down on us.”
“Man, do ye say? He ain't any more a man than me gun is.”
“What, then, can he be?”
“He's a blanket that they've twisted up so as to look as though it is gathered about the shoulders of an Apache. It's easy to see that there's nothing in it from the way it swings around, as though it was a little toy; and, be the same token, that little cord which holds him aloft is no thicker than a darning-needle. Why they are thrying such a simple thrick is more than I can tell.”
“I think I know,” said Fred. “They've dropped him down to find out whether we're on the watch or not. If we didn't pay any attention to it, they would think that neither of us was on the look-out, and they would send some others down to scalp us.”
“Be the powers, me laddy, I b'lave ye are right!” exclaimed Mickey, admiringly. “That's just the plan of the spalpeens, by which towken, I'll tip him a shot.”
With this he raised his rifle, and, sighting rather carelessly, fired. The shot, which was aimed at the roll of blanket, missed it altogether and cut the string which held it suspended in mid-air.
The next moment there was a dull thump upon the sand, and the package lay at the feet of the Irishman, who gave it a kick to make sure of its nature. It rebounded several feet, the resistance to the blow showing that there was nothing more than the simple blanket, and then he stooped over and examined it more closely by the sense of touch.
“'Twas very kind of the spalpeens to furnish us with a blanket that saams as good as this, though the weather ain't so cold that we naad it just now; but sometimes the rain comes and the northers blow, and then a chap is mighty glad to have seech a convanient article about. 'Twas very kind I say.”
The result of the little experiment upon the part of the Apaches, it was apparent, was not satisfactory to them. The boy was right in his surmise of its purpose; but it cannot be supposed that they counted upon losing the blanket under any circumstances. It was a costly and beautiful one, such as are made by the Indians of the southwest, and it was new enough to be clean, so that the two fugitives had secured a prize. At all events, the Apaches must have concluded that the people below were keeping watch and ward so well that no one could descend into the cave without danger of being perforated by a rifle ball.
Shortly after this occurrence it began to grow dark above, but the cause was obvious. The day was drawing to a close. Darkness, only less profound than that within the cave below, was enwrapping the surface above.
As soon as the night had fairly descended, Mickey O'Rooney, handling a small torch with great care, made his way once more to the puzzling outlet of the underground stream. The inspection satisfied him of the accuracy of his theory. Not the slightest tinge of light relieved the impenetrable gloom. Mickey considered this strong proof that it was but a short distance to the free air outside, and his courage rose very nearly to the sticking point of making the experiment then and there.
“But we both naad sleep,” he mused, as he threw down his torch, and made his way back by the dull glare of the expiring camp-fire. “We both lost considerable last night, and a chap can't kaap reg'lar hours any more than he can when he's coorting three lassies at the same time, and thrying to kaap aich from suspecting it. I faal as though we shall have something lively to do to-morrow, and so we'd better gain all the slumber we kin.”
When he reached the camp, he found the lad anxiously awaiting his return. They had signaled to each other several times, but the presence of the danger overhead rendered the boy more uneasy than usual when they were apart.
“Have ye observed nothing?” asked Mickey, in an undertone.
“Nothing at all.”
“It's too dark I know, to see, but mebbe yees have heerd something to tell ye that the spalpeens are up there still.”
“You may be sure I listened all I know how, but everything has kept as still as the grave. I haven't heard the fall of a pebble even. What do you think the Indians mean to do?”
“Well it's hard to tell. It fooks as though they didn't think we fell in, but had come down on purpose, and had some way of getting out as easy, and they're on the look out for us.”
“Maybe, Mickey, there's some other way of coming in, that we haven't been able to find.”
“I hoped so a while ago, but I've guv it up. If them spalpeens knowed of any other way, what do they mean by fooling around that place up there, where they're likely to get shot if they show themselves, and they're likely to lose the best blankets they've got?”
Fred did not feel competent to answer this question, and so he was forced to believe that Mickey was right in his conclusion that there was no other way of entering the cave than by the skylight above.
“Which the same thing being the case, I propose that we thry and see how the new blanket answers for a bed. Begorrah! but its fine, as me mither used to say when she run her hands over the head of me dad, and felt the lumps made by the shillelah.”
And, having spread the blanket out in the dark-ness, he rubbed his hands over its velvety surface, admiring its wonderful texture. The texture is such that water can be carried in these Apache blankets with as much certainty as in a metal vessel. But Fred protested against both lying down to sleep at the same time. He thought it likely that the Apaches meant to visit the cave during the night; but his friend laughed his fears to scorn, assuring him that there could be no danger at all. In view of the reception tendered the blanket, the Apaches would take it for granted that the parties beneath were too vigilant to permit anyone to steal a march upon them.
Mickey at once attested his sincerity by stretching out upon the inviting couch, and Fred concluded at last to join him. It was not long before the Irishman was sound asleep, but the lad lay awake a long time, looking reflectively up at the spot where he knew the opening to be,—the opening which had been the means of letting himself and comrade down into that dismal retreat of solitude,—and wondering what their enemies were doing.
“They must know that I am here. Lone Wolf will punish them if they don't keep me, so I am sure they will do all they can to catch me again. I wish I was certain that there was no way of getting in but through that up there, and then I could sleep too, but I feel too scared to do it now.”
This anxiety kept him awake a long time after Mickey became unconscious; but, as hour after hour passed and the stillness remained unbroken, his fears were gradually dissipated and a feeling of drowsiness began stealing over him.
Before consciousness entirely departed, he turned upon his side, that being the posture he generally assumed when asleep. As he made the movement and his ear was placed against the blanket, which in its turn rested upon the ground, he heard something which aroused his suspicions instantly and he raised his head. But when he rested on his hands, with his shoulders thrown up, he could hear nothing at all. The earth was a better conductor of sound than the atmosphere, which accounted for what at first seemed curious.
The boy applied his ear as before, and again he heard the noise, faintly, but distinctly; As the eye was of no use, he pressed his head against the blanket and listened. Several minutes were occupied in this manner, and then he said, in an undertone:
“I know what it is!—it is somebody walking as softly as he can. There is another way of getting into this cavern, and those Apaches have found it out. They've got inside and are hunting for us!”